


Rain Dogs

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, Blood, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Comfort Sex, Devildom (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Grinding, M/M, Nightmares, Riding, Twincest, Twins, demon incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: "A long moment passes with nothing but the rhythm of their breathing and the gentle ting of faux raindrops against the backdrop of the room. Belphegor thinks about how easy it would be to fall asleep this way, tucked in Beelzebub's secure embrace and pressed against the warmth radiating from his skin, all while lulled by the steady thrum of his heartbeat." Belphegor wakes Beelzebub up from another nightmare about Lilith and what begins as verbal comfort turns into something much more physical.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 154





	Rain Dogs

The sun is said to rise in the east and set in the west but it would seem that there's an exception to every established practice in the Devildom. The sun is a mere figment of Celestial representation and the seasons in the dark realm change with the scenery. Time is not a primitive element and the construct is believed to lie with the humans. In the Devildom, time is as useful as the dust that has collected on the tapestries that hang in RAD's student council room.

In a certain room, however, the sun forever stays risen in the west and its rocky counterpart, Luna, hangs in the company of stars above an orchard of mulberry and thistle. The room is large and an occasional draft breathes life into the umbrellas that float in a sea of purple rain, each strand glistering when it catches in the low light illuminating the space.

This design is one of the many things that defy what other realms have named eternal, and by that definition, the Devildom differs the most from its nearest planes. Still and all, despite its dissimilarity to the other realms, things are ever-changing in the demon's domain thanks to Diavolo. Rules and traditions have been bent and twisted to fit the shape of progression and evolution is no longer a word without meaning.

That being said, some things never change.

Belphegor squeezes his eyes shut and tries to silence the familiar snarls and thunderous trudge of Cerberus patrolling the halls. He tugs his favorite pillow over his head and groans sleepily, desperate to shut out the sounds that tug him away from the amaranthine haze of his blessed slumber. His thoughts are muddled by sleep and his limbs are heavy and listless with the weight of fatigue.

He's too close to awareness and it drives an angry spear through his chest. He curses whoever allowed Cerberus to roam freely and makes a mental note to punish them later. He pulls himself upright and growls like a bear coming out of hibernation. He yawns widely and stretches his arms toward the ceiling, the last wisps of fog clearing from his vision.

Belphegor blinks the room into focus and it's as though his sight gives way to reason. He realizes that Cerberus wouldn't be roaming the halls outside his room and that the amalgamation of grunts and snarls and groans are much closer than he'd first hypothesized. He scrambles out of bed and scurries across the archaic oriental rug that stretches from his bed to Beelzebub's.

“Beel,” he says softly, the concern hastening his heartbeat shaping the way his brother's name leaves his mouth. “Beel, wake up.” Belphegor climbs onto Beelzebub's bed and braces himself for whatever response the taller boy might throw at him—physical or otherwise. He places a hand on Beelzebub's shoulder and shakes him, gentle at first, then more insistent. “Beel!” he shouts, raising his voice over the sands of slumber that scratch the dark of his throat.

Beelzebub groans and Belphegor rolls his eyes in spite of wanting to comfort his twin. He watches Beelzebub's forehead wrinkle and a look of anguish spread out across his strong features. Belphegor doesn't have to guess at what's plaguing his dreams, and not wanting Beelzebub to suffer through another needless night of torment and guilt, he does the next thing that comes to mind: he backhands him.

No sooner than Beelzebub's eyes come open is he closing his fingers around Belphegor's wrist. His hold is biting and harsh, strong enough to crush the bones of any human—and even considering his lineage, Belphegor knows that his pale skin is likely to bruise in the shape of Beelzebub's grip.

“You were having a nightmare,” Belphegor tells him, his voice like a trance. “I thought I should wake you up.” The Avatar of Sloth oscillates his hand to shake off Beelzebub's grip but the orange-haired demon only lessens his grasp.

“Will you stay with me?” Beelzebub asks, his voice shaky and his breath uneven. “Just for a little while?”

Belphegor smiles and lowers his hand, Beelzebub's fingers still circling his small wrist. “I wasn't going to leave you,” he says. “I was just hoping to keep my bones intact.”

“Mm, sorry,” Beelzebub says, the dig of his mouth bending on a frown. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

Belphegor shakes his head and absentmindedly scoots closer toward Beelzebub. “Have you ever?”

Beelzebub's cheerless expression paints itself into a portrait of heartbreak and Belphegor wishes he could call back his response.

“Don't, Beel. Don't go back to blaming yourself for what happened. You and I both know that you did all you could do. I don't blame you and I know that Lilith wouldn't either.” Belphegor reaches out to touch Beelzebub's forehead, his soft fingers stroking the lines of his trepidation to smoothness. “The animosity I once held toward you was only reflective of my own guilt. I never meant to condemn you for what happened.”

Beelzebub looks skeptical but he bows his head in a curt nod. “I'm trying to learn to accept that. It's just...” Beelzebub trails off and turns his gaze away from Belphegor.

“I know,” Belphegor supplies. “I know how you feel but attaching an addendum to every sentence that pertains to what took place then isn't going to help you heal. No one expects you to forget the tragic events that transpired but I, for one, want you to forgive yourself. I know the others feel the same.” Belphegor slides his wrist free of Beelzebub's grip to lace their fingers together. He lifts their joined hands to his lips and plants a warm kiss on Beelzebub's knuckles. “I'm just the most important, right?” he smiles softly, hoping that the irrefutable truth will lend Beelzebub some sense of comfort.

“Mmhm,” Beelzebub hums, then: “I wish you'd do that more often.”

“What?” Belphegor asks and furrows his brow in an involuntary show of confusion.

“Smile,” Beelzebub confesses.

Belphegor feels his cheeks warm and he has to look away from the intensity of his brother's stare. “Don't start that again,” he mumbles behind a frown.

Beelzebub pushes himself up enough to lean back against the mess of pillows scattered about the plush headboard. “I like seeing you happy,” he confesses and rubs his thumb over the back of Belphegor's hand. “It makes me feel like I don't have this dark pit in my stomach that's going to swallow me whole.”

Belphegor's mouth curves on a half-smile and he shakes his head. “That's not even possible. You _are_ that dark pit.” He readjusts his position and once he's on his knees, he straddles Beelzebub's lap. He plops down on the muscled support of his brother's thighs and pretends to look at the blood beneath his fingernails, remnants of last night's dinner. “That being said, I guess I could try to smile more—just for you, but no pictures.”

Beelzebub smiles in a way meant for the angels and Belphegor can't help but think that one of them belongs in the Devildom more than the other. He feels guilty for a moment, knowing that Beelzebub spent so much time bedeviled by nightmares and regret while he hid himself away from the emotions he didn't want to feel. He realizes now that he could have turned to his twin, that he could have built Beelzebub back up while he was tearing down the framework of his noxious self-preservation.

“Belphie,” Beelzebub says, apprehension tempering his tone. “Are you going to fall asleep on me?”

Belphegor huffs a breath of laughter and shakes his head in a dissenting gesture—whether the question was meant to be literal or figurative, it doesn't matter because he has no intention of going back to sleep yet.

“Do you think I'm going to let you off easy just because you're my twin? You know what happens to those who disturb my sleep.” Belphegor lifts his gaze to the gradient shift of Beelzebub's own, aware of how closely the colors of his eyes replicate the pensive hues on his side of their room.

“Are you going to beat me up?” Beelzebub asks openly, as unfazed by the prospect as Mammon is about stealing.

Belphegor scoffs and knits his brows together. “I should for how nonchalant you are about the whole thing.”

Beelzebub begins to laugh and Belphegor has to press a hand to his chest to keep himself from tipping sideways. He can feel the vibration of Beelzebub's amusement beneath his fingertips as it spills into resonance. He fights the urge to join in because he's always been weak for Beelzebub's laughter when he's in a good mood and tonight is no exception.

Belphegor parts his lips to chide Beelzebub for his ceaseless snickering but before he can push the words into sound, Beelzebub unlaces their fingers to wrap his arms around his waist. He hugs Belphegor like he's afraid that he's going to evaporate and Belphegor has to modify the rate of his breathing.

“I'm glad you're here, Belphie,” he says, his breath hot against the exposed line of Belphegor's clavicle.

Belphegor buries his nose in Beelzebub's unkempt strands and smiles against the line of his scalp. He inhales his scent and wraps his arms around the broad curve of Beelzebub's shoulders. “I'm glad too,” he admits, lips moving against the soft strands of orange catching on his skin.

A long moment passes with nothing but the rhythm of their breathing and the gentle ting of faux raindrops against the backdrop of the room. Belphegor thinks about how easy it would be to fall asleep this way, tucked in Beelzebub's secure embrace and pressed against the warmth radiating from his skin, all while lulled by the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“Belphie?” Beelzebub asks, his mouth ghosting the jugular notch between the jut of Belphegor's collarbones.

“Hm?” Belphegor manages as he draws away from Beelzebub's scalp just enough that he can raise his head.

“I'm hungry,” Beelzebub says, something like shame sticking to his honeyed tone.

“You're always hungry,” is Belphegor's response, cut by a breath of laughter. “Would you like me to get you something to eat?”

“Mm,” Beelzebub hums, smiling. “But not yet. Right now, I'm hungry for something else.”

Belphegor slides his fingers through Beelzebub's hair, his nails scraping the top of his head. “Ah, I see. So this is where the other strains of self-indulgent excess come into play, my voracious brother.” He shifts his hips and slides himself further up Beelzebub's thighs. “What is it that you're hungry for?”

“Isn't that obvious?” Beelzebub asks, furrowing his brow to exemplify his state of bewilderment.

The corner of Belphegor's mouth twitches and he presses a chaste kiss to the top of Beelzebub's head. “You're as straightforward as ever,” he says and drapes his arms around his twin's neck. “And most times I admire that part of you but I was hoping for a little more inspiration.” Belphegor rocks his hips forward and grinds himself down against the soft protrusion of Beelzebub's cock. “Something a bit more _specific_.”

Beelzebub exhales a quiet breath that slips into a moan. He lifts his arms and braces his hands on Belphegor's hips. “What you're doing now is nice,” Beelzebub tells him, his expression bearing the same politeness it usually does when he's in Belphegor's company.

Belphegor shakes his head and breathes a heavy sigh. “You're terrible at this,” he needles, ducking his head just enough to take the bottom line of Beelzebub's mouth between his teeth. He continues to undulate his hips, grinding his impending arousal against Beelzebub's impressive cock—he's half-hard at best and he's already surpassed both Leviathan and Asmodeus in length and girth.

Belphegor is first to slip his tongue into Beelzebub's mouth but it's Beelzebub who takes the lead. He kisses Belphegor like he's sipping on a full-bodied claret and feasting on the manna of ambrosia. He sucks on Belphegor's tongue like his saliva is nectar and nibbles on his lips like they're tender and succulent delicacies.

Despite his innate wealth of reservation, Belphegor emits a low whine that vibrates up the dark of his throat and slips into Beelzebub's hungry aperture. He hastens the shift of his hips and allows gravity to control the electric friction that branches through him like lightning.

Beelzebub's kisses become open-mouthed and sloppy and Belphegor has to draw back for an imperative breath. He feels dizzy and feverish and when he sweeps his tongue across his lips, he catches a strand of Beelzebub's saliva on its tip. “I fear that one of these days you're actually going to take a bite out of me,” he says, only half-joking.

Beelzebub chuckles and turns his head a fraction, heat turning to color along the contours of his cheeks. “But you taste good,” he admits, and there's not a stitch of regret to be found in the silky purr of his low timbre.

“You're shameless,” Belphegor tells him. He tightens his grip and pulls himself closer to Beelzebub's broad and muscular chest.

“I could say the same about you,” Beelzebub rasps. He cants his hips and Belphegor issues a sound that can only be classified as a helpless whimper. Beelzebub smiles and wraps an arm around Belphegor's back, keeping one hand braced firmly above the angle of his hip. He slips his fingers into the waistband of Belphegor's underwear and walks his long digits down the cleft of his ass.

“Quit teasing me, Beel,” Belphegor complains, his tone breaking like an insurgent wave battering the shore. He removes his arms from Beelzebub's neck and quickly undoes the buttons on his pajama top. He shrugs out of the material and shakes it free from his arms as if the fabric has done something to offend him.

“It's my job as your older brother to give you a hard time,” is Beelzebub's response, thick and syrupy-sweet.

“You're not even that much older than me,” Belphegor counters. He lowers his hands to the thin waistband of Beelzebub's boxers and draws the elastic away from his skin. He shoves his free hand into the shadow of material and curls his fingers around Beelzebub's cock. “Besides, we both know that you can't stand making me suffer.” He can feel the heavy weight of his brother's cock twitch in his hand and he smirks as he draws it out and into the open air.

“Is that what I'm doing?” Beelzebub asks, unease stirring the calm waters of his tone.

“Can't you feel how hard I am?” Belphegor asks with an expression of put-on innocence. He begins to stroke Beelzebub's cock while he grants his own aching hardness freedom. His coy expression dissolves when a wry smile takes over his lips and he begins to work their cocks in tandem.

A resonant growl shakes in Beelzebub's chest and Belphegor can see hunger write itself out across his face. He considers harassing his twin for a bit of fun but the words that crowd his teeth shatter when Beelzebub presses a single digit against his entrance. He can't get a firm grip on their cocks with a single hand considering Beelzebub's now at full hardness, but he steals a moment to shove the elastic of his underwear down in an attempt to award Beelzebub more direct access to his awaiting arousal.

Beelzebub slants his hips in an unstated gesture of need and Belphegor mutters something about patience as he returns his hand to the juxtaposition of their cocks. Belphegor shifts his hips a fraction and smears the collective beads of precome over the flushing heads of their mutual arousal.

Beelzebub's slit leaks a spate of slick fluid as the slide begins to come easier and Belphegor lets the clear substance spill over his fingers. He lifts his hips and brings his hands down over the hard jut of their cocks, slicking their skin and dragging a sigh past Beelzebub's lips. When he lowers his hips, Beelzebub slips a finger into his body and Belphegor can't stifle the desperate cry that tears up his throat and into resonance.

“Fuck, Beel, warn me next time,” Belphegor chides, panting slightly.

Beelzebub smiles and shakes his head. “That would take the surprise out of it.”

“I don't need the element of surprise when it comes to you putting things up my ass,” Belphegor tells him. “That's the one time when I could use a bit of warning.”

Beelzebub chuckles and crooks his finger in a come hither motion that makes Belphegor moan in pleasure. “Okay,” he consents, then: “I'm going to put another finger inside of you now.”

“Already?” Belphegor gasps, but Beelzebub immediately fits another digit in alongside the first. “You...kind of have to w-wait for me to concede,” Belphegor stammers regardless of the way he's rocking back against Beelzebub's fingers.

“But you're as wet as Demonus.” Beelzebub shifts his wrists and scissors his fingers, working Belphegor open and into a state of frenzy. “You're so wet that you're dripping down my fingers.”

Belphegor clenches his jaw but it's not enough to dampen the mewl disguised as a groan that breaks free of his mouth. He decides to forgo discipline at the moment, and begins working himself down on Beelzebub's fingers like his touch can set him free.

“You're not trying anymore,” Beelzebub says and Belphegor has to blink several times to pull him back into focus.

“What?” Belphegor asks, focusing more on breathing than articulation.

Beelzebub lowers his gaze to Belphegor's hands, fingers loose and resting idly on their cocks.

“Well, you're distracting me,” Belphegor protests, his hips moving on autopilot and the strain in his legs turning over to a steady tremble.

“Mm,” Beelzebub hums in acknowledgment but the simple vibration sounds like disinterest to Belphegor's ears. He knits his brows together but suddenly Beelzebub's train of thought rides the rails right into his mind and the pout that threatened to shape his lips turns to a soft smile.

Beelzebub slowly removes his fingers from Belphegor's wet heat and Belphegor plants his hands on Beelzebub's shoulders to pull himself upright, onto his knees. Beelzebub's smears the slick glistening on his skin over his cock—more out of personal interest than necessity—and wraps his fingers around the base. Belphegor waits until he feels the firm resistance of his twin's cockhead move into the cleft of his ass and press against his entrance.

Belphegor sets his nails in against Beelzebub's bare shoulders and lowers himself down onto his thrumming hardness, taking him deeper inch by careful inch until he's stretched to fullness. “Fuck,” he says, almost spitting the word when Beelzebub's cock is fully seated inside of him. “I don't know how I manage to take all of you. You're a beast.”

Beelzebub laughs as if it's the greatest compliment he's ever received. He places his hands back on Belphegor's hips and nods his head in the affirmative. “I said that you were dripping, didn't I?”

Belphegor emits a scoff and covers Beelzebub's mouth with the palm of his hand. “Just let me get to work and keep your mouth shut.” Belphegor lifts his hips and grinds down on Beelzebub's cock in a way that underscores his demand. It proves successful but like a loose spring, it bounces back and hits him square in the chest. A frisson of excitement skips up the staircase of his spine and trickles down to the space between his hips. He squeezes Beelzebub's shoulders and begins to ride his cock like he wears his initials on his lifeline.

Belphegor can feel the reverberation of Beelzebub's long moan against his hand, illustrating his pleasure. The sound acts as a catalyst to Belphegor's approach and the rhythm of his movements begin to fall in time with his pulse. He's nearly slamming himself down on Beelzebub's thighs in an act of desperation, spearing himself on his twin's cock in the quest of satisfaction. He can feel himself approaching the precipice of his downfall, and it seems almost counterproductive to climb to such great heights just to fall but he knows that the outcome will be worth the crash.

He knows that Beelzebub's is close too, not just by the way he's taken to fucking into him, but by the blood and the bones of their bond. He can feel his stomach clench the way Beelzebub's does just before he comes and the thoughts in his head have turned to muddied drivel. Beelzebub hums something that sounds like speech and just as Belphegor makes to draw his hand away from his brother's lips, Beelzebub bites down on his thumb's basal joint.

Belphegor hisses between his teeth but the pain is just enough to complement the surge of pleasure cresting through his veins. He slants forward and rakes his nails down Beelzebub's back, a dry sob breaking in the dark of his throat as he spills himself to completion.

Beelzebub laps at the blood tainting his lips and it doesn't take long for him to follow in Belphegor's tracks—not with the taste of his brother on his tongue and his final spasms of pleasure hugging his cock. He moans, the sound vibrant and warm in his throat, and Belphegor tears his hand away from Beelzebub's mouth before he can sink the sharp points of his teeth deeper into his skin.

Belphegor watches Beelzebub's eyes flutter shut and the long lines of his lashes twitch as he capitulates to his body's demands. He can feel the outpouring of Beelzebub's release spill into his body, viscous and hot and slick. He parts his lips for breath and Belphegor takes his face into his hands and kisses him with every grain of passion he has left in his body.

Beelzebub slumps back against the bed, taking Belphegor with him. Their tongues dance together like two spirits moving seamlessly across a ballroom floor. Beelzebub slips his hands beneath the hem of Belphegor's shirt and runs his hands over his chest like it's new territory to roam. He gently drags his nails across his flesh and when he splays his fingers to tease and tug at Belphegor's nipples, the smaller demon retracts.

“Stop that,” he says, his voice scraping just above a whisper. “I'm too sensitive.”

“You're blushing,” Beelzebub notes, and the observation only serves to deepen the pink dusting Belphegor's cheeks.

“I'm just hot,” Belphegor replies, but it's easy to parse the attempted evasion from the truth.

“Mm,” Beelzebub hums and takes Belphegor into his arms. He lifts him away from the bed easily and Belphegor is forced to wrap his legs around Beelzebub's waist. Once his feet are firmly planted on the floor, Beelzebub kicks off his boxers.

“Beel, what are you doing?” Belphegor asks, not keen on the idea of any of his other brothers seeing him with his underwear stretched below his ass and Beelzebub's release dripping from his skin.

“I'm going to cool you down,” Beelzebub says, and it becomes clear that he's carrying Belphegor to the shower. “I'll clean you out and you can wash your come from my chest.”

Belphegor huffs a breath of dispirit-crossed amusement and wraps his arms around Beelzebub's back. He rests his chin on his twin's shoulder and yawns. “Can't we just go back to sleep and take care of this tomorrow? You'd still be asleep if it weren't for me anyway.”

“No,” Beelzebub answers, leaving no room for argument as he sets Belphegor on the edge of a large marble vanity that stretches from wall to wall. “Besides, I can't go to sleep like this.”

Belphegor tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it aside with little care as to where it lands. His forehead wrinkles with bafflement and he presses his lips into a tight line. “Why not? It's not like you haven't a hundred—maybe even a thousand times before.”

Beelzebub turns on the shower and turns around to face Belphegor directly. “Not because of that.” He smiles sheepishly and Belphegor knows what he's going to say before the words even leave his mouth.

“I'm hungry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
